Crisis Averted
by Bookworm-By-Day
Summary: He's sitting at the table. My table. Blaise/Hermione


**Author's Note **This is for EveryShiningStar's Non-Canon Pairings Challenge, my pairing being Blaise/Hermione. It's a bit drabble-y and short, but I had a lot of fun playing with Hermione's neurotic, OCD side (:

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**Monday, 10:22 A.M.**

There is a major crisis at hand.

The subject is sitting at the table. _My _table. It's in the perfect position – right next to the large window overlooking the grounds, and still far enough in the corner for optimal privacy. Plus, it's the perfect size for all of my books, plus my parchment and quills.

I, on the other hand, am stuck sitting at the worst table in the whole library. The slacker table. And I am _not _a slacker. Its legs are wiggly, and I'm forced to share the horrendous thing with a blonde Hufflepuff who looks like she's spent far too much time sniffing paste. I cannot possibly work under these conditions.

Oh, Merlin. The Hufflepuff just asked me where the comic book section is...

**Tuesday, 3:45 P.M.**

The subject is here. At my table. Again.

I've never even seen him set foot inside the library before. _My _library. It's my sanctuary, the one place I can go to escape from everything, and the subject is entirely ruining it. He's been here for two days straight, sitting there in the absolute most comfortable chair, reading through his Potions textbook with an infuriating smirk.

At least the Hufflepuff girl isn't here today. Instead, I'm stuck with Romilda Vane. Which is a bit of an improvement, but also a bit of a downgrade. All she can do is comment on the subject's apparent good looks, which I don't see in the least. I mean, he may be tall and dark with deep, soulful eyes. And he does have quite a nice mouth...

But he stole my table. End of story.

**Thursday, 7:30 A.M.**

I came here as early as possible today, dragging Harry along with me. The subject couldn't possibly be in the library, I was sure. I had even avoided this area yesterday, hoping that he would be finished with his studying by now.

And yet, there he is. I believe I'm going mad.

Harry agrees. He doesn't understand why I can't simply sit somewhere else and be happy. Not that he understands all that much to begin with; he _is_ a boy, after all. But I calmly explain about the pleasant view and the perfect size and the comfortable seats. Now he's looking at me like I'm even more mad, and he's insisting that we go get some breakfast, as my face is looking rather pale.

This is getting ridiculous.

**Friday, 9:30 P.M.**

Early in the morning, late at night, mid-afternoon – it doesn't seem to matter, the subject is always here!

I don't think I can take this for one more day. I know that this is a library, a place of peace; and I know that he's a Slytherin, and I shouldn't start any trouble. But I need that table! My hair's three times frizzier than usual, I can't focus, and even Ronald is making higher marks than me.

I won't stand for it. I get up, focusing on his smug face, and try to muster up all the courage I can. If only I had an ally right now. Even the paste-sniffing Hufflepuff would do...

**Friday, 9:32 P.M.**

"Blaise."

My hand slams on his table – no, _my _table – and the subject glances up. A look of surprise flashes across his face, but then his usual expression of cocky, cool indifference reappears.

"Yes, Granger?"

I sigh. "I would like my table back, please."

He laughs. "Your table? I don't believe you can stake your claim on a worthless, flat piece of wood."

Okay, that was taking it a bit too far. "This is _not _a worthless, flat piece of wood! It's the perfect size, and it doesn't have wobbly legs, and the chairs are unbelievably comfortable, and –"

"Bloody hell, calm down!" He looks slightly terrified. Good. "I apologize, I didn't know it was so...special to you. I'll leave."

He stands up, moving and gathering his things as slowly as possible. But I don't care. I'm triumphant, a winner. And I finally have _my _table back.

As I sit down, breathing in the sweet aroma of freshly polished oak, the subject adds, "Oh, and by the way. You look awfully good when you're angry, Granger."

My mouth falls open, and with a suggestive wink and a smile, the subject strolls away. I feel a deep blush heat my cheeks as I open my books one by one, and take out my quill and parchment. Maybe the subject – Blaise – isn't _quite _the monster I thought he was. After all, he did return my table...

Well, crisis averted, I suppose.


End file.
